


a ragtag bunch of misfits

by littlebark



Series: Dungeons and Dragons, oh my! [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: there's lots of tears that go into this - both writing and playing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 05:13:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12646809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebark/pseuds/littlebark
Summary: A party of five travel across the land. Death is inescapable.





	a ragtag bunch of misfits

**Author's Note:**

> I have awesome buds who I get to D&D with every weekend - even when I'm 2,814 km away. We've had some pretty silly sessions and some "holy shit, my heart" ones. I love them all dearly and because it's me, I have to get these feelings for imaginary characters out SOMEHOW. What better way than to write them?

Death, the idea of it, had never frightened Maella. She was firbolg of the Lakesdrip Forest, and the never ending cycle of life and death was an ever present companion in her tribe. They welcomed the life of a new child, looking for signs of a previous soul in the face of newborn. They mourned their fallen, celebrating their life and helping them into their journey as their soul wandered the Mother spirit world until they were born again.

Death outside the safety of her forest and tribe felt cold and foreign. She feared it now, the finality of it seemed more real here than back with her clan. There was no ceremony here, no rituals to cleanse their home or funeral pyres as their physical body burned and it’s ashes floated up, up, up into the sky. 

They left one of their own behind, and grief seemed to choke them all until it left them wordless.

That, if nothing else, made this feel so cold and empty. There was meant to be laughter and tears and stories of the person they had lost, stories retold to commemorate their life. Her clan believed that until you were reborn, you spoke of them, kept their spirit alive so that they would not forget where they belonged.

Bethel did not belong buried under piles of rocks. Bethel, with her endless helpful quips for her mistress (although Maella, due to lack of understanding of human customs, never really understood if she was friend to the family or merely a paid hand, the customs outside her forest still escaped her), deserved all the ceremony of a proper send off. 

How to give a life it’s ending when they had no body, no closure? 

She remembered the way her heart had pounded - a steady beat of desperation and determination- as she had climbed up the walls towards the portal that would lead them to safety, the Dragonborn by name of Scales unconscious but secure on her back, her muscles burning as she poured all her might into climbing. She remembered climbing up and over edge, her fingers sore and bloody, looking over her shoulder and seeing the figures of Nerisnys the Barbarian and Bethel her companion as they held onto dear life and climbed up the rope that Malforious the Sorcerer (or Wizard... Mother, but if only she could keep straight which of the two he was!) held onto, the strain of it on his face. She wanted nothing more than to jump over to help him, knew that she was stronger than he and that they would be able to hoist them to safety together. 

And had she not had an unconscious body strapped on her back, she knew she would have made the jump. It was Scale’s soft groan that snapped her back, reminding her of her charge. She doesn’t remember now if she hollered anything at Malf, if she had done anything or said words of encouragement. All she knows is that she stepped through the portal, ready to fight and protect and instead was welcomed by nothing other than a dark room and Kellyn the Warlock, looking pale and shaken.

She had laid Scales down with care, her fingers searching for a pulse. It was there, steady if a bit weak, but it was there. Maella had taken a deep breath, willed the earth to answer her call when the portal lit the room up and Malf and Neri stepped through.

And with them, the unmistakable sound of grief.

Maella glanced behind them, waiting for the third body to come through, for Bethel to follow. Seconds passed with only the sound of Nerisnys’s sobbing. 

The realization of what had happened hit both Kelynn and Maella at the same moment. She turned away from them, ignoring the sounds behind her as tears streamed down her face and with what little energy she had left, she whispered a healing spell. Scales came to with a gasp, no doubt startled by the weeping firbolg above him. She had pushed back from him, she realized now, from all of them really and had stayed aloof and distant ever since.

How was she to explain how hollow she felt, how ridiculous that felt when she had not  _ known _ Bethel? Not the same way Nerisnys had, after all. The small human had saved her life several times, but she could not truly recall a time she had gone out of her way to get to know her.

And yet, Bethel had been the first human that Maella had held no contempt for. She was a good person, a caring soul and truly lived to make Nerisnys’ life easier.

Weary after a day of traveling, Maella glanced around as dusk began to fall around them. “There’s a clearing off just the side of the road,” she called softly to the others, her voice hoarse from the lack of use. “We’ve been walking all day, we need to eat. Should we stop and rest?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Nerisnys said. “Bethel, can you-“

A second too late, she realized what she had said and made a choked sound. From her left, Maella heard Malf mutter an oath. She was so used to his endless innuendos and drunken remarks that anything resembling emotion unsettled her. Scales moved forward, jerking his head at Nerisnys. If she didn't know him, the gesture would have frightened her. But she did know him, and knew that he meant her no harm. “What do you need? I’ll help you with it.”

They all quickly fell into a routine, unpacking and cooking, all the while very careful not to say anything. Maella held her palm to the ground, feeling reassured when the earth pulsed back a steady rhythm.  _ Life goes on _ , she thought with a sigh as she ate berries. The campfire did nothing to warm her, and she fiddled with a piece of wood, carving away the bits she didn’t want. 

Scales approached her, his rather intimidating figure no longer making her skin crawl in terror as it once had. He handed her a cup of foul smelling alcohol with a glare that brokered no argument. Once he had distributed a cup to everyone, he looked around them and lifted his glass.

“To Bethel,” said the dragonborn in his deep voice, grief laced through those two words.

The rest of them mumbled “to Bethel” in various degrees of grief but it was Nerisnys’ broken whisper that hurt the most.

“Bethel,” Maella whispered again as she leaned back against the tree trunk, watching the sparks from fire floating up into the night sky.

Tears choked her and she knew it was not merely from the foul tasting liquid currently burning her throat. It left her unable to swallow and she closed her eyes as the weight of their failure settled over them. 

**Author's Note:**

> No, but seriously. Who knew the death of an NPC that's been following the group since July would bring six grown ups to tears?


End file.
